


Little Hellraisers

by MysteryGirl22



Category: Bendy and the Ink Machine, Cuphead (Video Game), Hello Puppets (Video Game)
Genre: AU, Creepy, Cuphead - Freeform, Dark, Gen, Hello Puppets - Freeform, bendy and the ink machine - Freeform, stars an OC
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-08
Updated: 2020-12-09
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:20:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27952232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MysteryGirl22/pseuds/MysteryGirl22
Summary: When the only way to provide for your family is to venture down into the pit itself.
Kudos: 6





	1. Chapter 1

“So, wait, you want me to do _what_?”

Aaron stared across the desk at his boss, a short, gangly man with thinning salt-and-cinnamon hair and gray-blue eyes set so deeply beneath big, bushy brows they were constantly shadowed. Mr. Oscar had always weirded him out, but the guy paid more than anyone else he’d worked for, whether the job was on the dangerous side or not. He knew that meant he shouldn’t really complain, but he’d never been able to shake the feeling that something was very, very wrong with the guy.

And the job lined up for him today was definitely not helping to change that. Mr. Oscar rolled his eyes impatiently.

“All I want you to do is follow up on the tips we’ve been getting about the studio on the South side of town,” he repeated shortly. “See if there’s really anything to them.”

He knew about the place, of course, everyone did, but to actually go inside of it? He wasn’t sure about that at all.

Aaron shook his head and pushed back his chair. It was one thing to suit up in hazmat gear to cover a chemical or asbestos cleanup, or to even potentially put himself in the line of fire to get information about a shooting or hostage situation, but this?

“Sorry, boss,” he said, trying to keep his voice steady. “You’ll have to find someone else for this one, I’m not touching it.”

He turned and started to walk away, wishing he had just kept going when the old man blew a low whistle.

“I’ll pay you double your usual fee,” he started flatly. “Triple, if you come back with something good.”

Aaron went stiff, swallowing hard. That cash would be a godsend for his family, especially now that Hanukah was coming up. He could give his younger siblings the holiday they deserved, one they hadn’t had since their mother had bailed for the last time. His fist tightened at his side as he tried to steel his resolve, telling himself this could be worth it even without the promise of so much cash. If he did manage to figure out what really happened up at that old place, it could kickstart his career right into the stratosphere.

“I know how much you could use the money, Grievance,” Mr. Oscar continued, in a soft tone that said the man knew exactly what he was doing. “So how about I sweeten the pot a bit more? You’ll get half the triple pay up front, and the rest once you finish the job.”

Aaron choked, unable to keep the shock from his face as he turned slowly back toward the desk. He gawked at the figure sitting behind it, straight and proud, long gnarled fingers tapping softly against each other. He couldn’t decide who was the crazier one—his boss for even offering such a deal, or him for even thinking to accept it.

“All right,” he said, before he could let himself reconsider. It really was too good to pass up. “You’ve got yourself a reporter, so where’s the address?”

Mr. Oscar chuckled to himself, his desk drawer softly creaking as he opened it. He pulled out a small notebook so old the pages had yellowed, scribbled it down and tore the page out. He almost seemed to hesitate before he slid it across the desk, though whatever unease might have been in those unnerving eyes was gone the moment Aaron picked up the paper.

“I’ll wire the initial payment to your account when I know you’ve arrived there,” he said. “I’m not giving you a deadline on this, though, I want you to be as thorough as possible. Subscriptions are down this month, and I just know this is going to be the bomb that puts us on the map!”

Aaron snorted.

“No pressure, then, boss,” he quipped, then tucked the paper in his pocket. “But I’ll be sure to get everything I can.”

Mr. Oscar nodded, waving him out when the phone rang. Aaron made a beeline for the men’s room, which was thankfully empty. He hit the first sink and threw the cold water on full, filled his hands and splashed his face. He breathed deeply, trying not to pant as his fingers clamped down on the sides of the cream basin, staring at himself in the mirror. Water quivered and dripped from his messy white-blond curls, and there were dark circles under his deep brown eyes, all the more obvious against his pasty skin. His freckles looked almost like dried spatters of blood.

Looking at that worn, exhausted face, there was only one question in his mind: should he really have agreed to take this assignment?

He breathed deeply, held it, then blew it slowly out, telling himself that there was no going back now.


	2. Chapter 2

The so-called warehouse was nothing like Aaron had expected. Instead, the run-down old relic looked like some kind of twisted carnival attraction, a crumbling striped tower topped with a spade listing on either side of a boarded entrance shaped like a club. It looked like the color scheme had once been coal black, bloody red and crystal white, now faded, chipping and peeling. He tried to swallow the bundle of nerves blocking his throat, feeling his heart start to pound in his head as he slowly approached the place.

It had taken the whole of his first day off in months to make arrangements for his siblings, the whole brood of them a handful no one but himself dared to take on. Matthias was nine, with pale hair like him and their father, but with their mother’s sky blue eyes. Eight-year-old Ben was black-haired with dark brown eyes, most often the leader when it came to their antics. The twins, blond Hunter and dark-headed Tommy, were seven, both with their grandfather’s deep blue eyes, the only ones with straight hair, as opposed to curls. Their youngest brother, five-year-old Robin, had gotten sick shortly after he was born, their father so absorbed in work that Aaron was amazed the man had noticed at all.

As per the usual, their mother had bailed the second she’d been released from the hospital, only that time, she had made it a point to never come back. He’d had to care for all five of them on his own, but at least money hadn’t been a problem, not until their father had died in his office of a supposedly self-inflicted gunshot wound. Aaron was just grateful his brothers hadn’t been there to see it.

There had been a mess of papers spread across the man’s desk, detailing the crippling debt their family was really in, the letters that proved Robin was not their father’s son. His red hair and amber eyes had been explained away as recessive genes that hadn’t surfaced in several generations; it had been true, just not for the man it should have been. He scoffed.

 _She always_ did _have a weird relationship with the truth._

He chuckled to himself, the sound fading as the shadow of the place loomed coldly, silently over him, ragged, yellowed posters flapping in the rustling breeze like a legion of protective spirits. It was no wonder rumors had spread about the place being haunted, he thought, though he doubted any of the stories were to be believed. Things like that just didn’t exist.

He felt the weight of the flashlight and camera at his chest, the sheath on one hip and the holster on the other; just because the place was abandoned didn’t mean it would be empty, and he wasn’t about to let himself be caught unawares. The last thing his family needed was another loss.

This close, he could see the walls were pocked with small divots, all either shaped like diamonds or hearts, arranged on the towers so they followed the sweep of the faded stripes. The Gothic arched windows were delicate, rusted iron filigree, inlaid with grimy stained glass panes, most of them missing or cracked. He peered through one of those gaps into the darkness beyond, filled with tiny echoes of scratching, scurrying footsteps, the faint, irregular drips of water from the recent storm.

 _There has to be some way to get in here,_ he thought, as he stepped back to survey the place again. Even if he could pry off the frames, the windows were too narrow for him to squeeze through easily, and he wanted a quick exit in case things got nasty. He berated himself for not even thinking to bring a crowbar, a hammer, anything of the sort.

He went cold at a loud creaking, stumbled back as debris crashed down from the listing roof, metal and wood clattering to the cracked concrete scattered with tufts of overgrown grass. Lying among the mess were torn playing cards, yellowed and mildewed, cracked dice of various colors, dishes with faded exotic designs rendered to shards by the fall. How had all of it ended up there, and why would any of it have even been in a place like this? Aaron figured it would just be one more thing to explain in the story he’d write on this place, if he ever got the chance.

_Wait, what’s that?_

Poking out near the bottom of the pile, the blue paint all but scraped away, the metal splashed with rust, was the very tool he had berated himself for forgetting. Maybe he really was fated to find out what had happened here, so many years ago. He reached to pick it up, drawing back sharply at the sight of a giant centipede, its maroon and black coloring oddly fitting in this place. He watched as its sharp orange legs carried it quickly away, as it disappeared into the forest that had begun to take back the broken-up parking lot. He wondered briefly how long it would be until the trees and undergrowth took over the building itself.

The bar made quick work of the planks securing the doors, weathered by time. The lock had long been broken, likely by homeless people or vandals, and the hinges shrieked in protest as he pushed them open, rebounding down the hall like a tortured scream. Whoever might be hiding in the shadows ahead, they definitely knew he was there.

He kept a tight grip on the bar as he ventured cautiously forward, his fingers trembling slightly as he flicked on his flashlight. It was one of the most expensive things that he owned, a gift from his father when he had started working for the paper, one of few family treasures that hadn’t been sold to start paying the debt.

A large brown rat scurried across his path, pausing in the patch of light, staring up at him with glinting, beady eyes. It disappeared in a patch of scattered trash, the sharp stink of ammonia cutting through the handkerchief he had tied around his mouth and nose. He’d gotten many odd looks at his choice of attire on that warm summer day, and he’d worked up quite a sweat in his trek to this place, but he hadn’t been about to explore such a dump in shorts or a T-shirt. It was unusually cool in there, anyway, tucked under a cliff as it was, shielded at nearly all hours from the sunlight.

He scuffed the toe of his boot through the grime on the floor, revealing a chessboard of broken black and cream tiles, some of which were embossed with a crimson heart. He could imagine the sight this place must have been, imagining the tarnished chandeliers that hadn’t fallen sending out shafts of light through curtains of small crystals, the double candle sconces on the walls adding another layer of elegance.

_But wasn’t this place just a comic book studio?_

The design and decor pointed at anything but, though he figured it had more to do with the people behind it than the business itself. He remembered his father talking about his favorite series as a kid, an underground project that had hit the big time before suddenly going bankrupt in the early eighties.

He’d found the collection of Little Hellraisers stashed in a fireproof chest buried in his father’s closet, every issue mint-in-bag. There’d been an appraisal slip tucked under the pile, determining it to be the full series, and worth thousands. Aaron hated the fact he’d even been tempted to part with it after his father’s death, desperate as he’d been for a way to fix things. But instead, he’d left the box where he’d found it, not wanting to lose one of the only memories his little brothers would have of the man.

He took a closer look at some of the faded posters still clinging to the peeling wallpaper, showcasing various characters from the comics. A grinning blue demon with a cream face, bowtie, gloves and shoes, a man with a die for a head wearing a lavender suit and a cocky smirk. A woman with wild red hair, goggles and a lab coat stained with various colored splotches.

He stepped back from them and snapped a photo, the first of what he knew would be many. The camera was a loner from his boss—brand new with an empty memory, equipped with the perfect lens for low-light captures. Even if the rumors about this place turned out to be false, it would still be worth it to find out the full story of why it had shut down, the history nobody in the town seemed to remember, even if they had worked there.

He hitched his shoulder to readjust the small backpack, filled with only his lunch and the crowbar at the moment, hopefully enough for the physical proof Mr. Oscar had asked him to collect, claiming pictures themselves just wouldn’t be enough.

 _Posters like this are probably all over eBay,_ he thought. _And they’re easy enough to fake, I’ll have to find something else._

He kept going, his pace careful and slow, his eyes starting to water from the dust nevertheless kicked up by his steps. He blinked, then rubbed the moisture away, going still when he felt his hair start to stand on end. Had that feeling of being watched been there this whole time? Why did it suddenly feel, and smell, like somebody was breathing down his neck?

He gulped, wishing he’d kept the crowbar in hand as he began to turn, not wanting to provoke whoever was there by reaching for either weapon on his belt.

“H-Hello?”


End file.
